Snippets of Traditions
by Over.Thinking.Daily.Life
Summary: The pureblood culture and extracurricular world of the Harry Potter world was not developed enough in the books. These are some snippets and plot ideas about the culture of love, life and magic in the Magical world.
1. What's with the Hair?

Inspired by some of Ell Roche's late work. Not cannon. But interesting. In the same timeline/universe as "Of Dreams of Families"

What's in a Hair Style

Over the summer, the witches altered their hairstyle.

It wasn't until a transfiguration class in the third week of term that Harry realized anything had changed.

"Professor McGonagall?"

Pansy Parkinson's hand was almost never raised in any of the theoretical classes, unless she was asking to be excused to take twenty minutes to go to the bathroom.

"Yes, Ms. Parkinson." Clearly, their professor was just as surprised.

Pansy, instinctively sensing that all eyes in the room were on her, leaned forward so certain, recently developed parts of her anatomy were pressed against the desk. Next to him, Ron leaned forward with greater interest.

"Professor." Pansy raised a hand to trace along her neck. Harry was sure his weren't the only eyes to follow the path of those fingers to her hair line. "This spell is hard. Do you think that I could go to another room to practice? You see, I want to let my hair down."

These strange words were said directly and deliberately to Malfoy who just rolled his eyes and returned back to his scroll. Next to him, Ron stiffened. Further behind him, Lavender and Pavarti made a mix of scandalized gasps and choaking sounds.

Looking like she had swallowed a lemon more than usual, Professor McGonagall acquiesced.

"You may retire to the adjacent room if you require, Ms. Parkinson. Though I would suggest not making a practice of such retreats. This exercise is preliminary at best."

Pansy apparently decided not to hear her. With a swish of her robes, newly tailored Harry suddenly realized, she rose, collected her school books and sashayed into the extra study space.

"Hey, Hermione?"

His friend glanced up from the thick book she had brought to the dinner table. Hermione's reading habits had become outrageous lately. Breakfast was spent pouring over the newspaper with a red pen, occasionally circling articles with a triumphant expression. Lunch was spent reviewing the notes she had taken weeks ago for this afternoons classes and quizzing Harry and Ron on parts of lectures they had day dreamed through. Dinner was her "extra-curricular" research.

She was awe inspiring. Or terrifying. Harry couldn't decide.

"Yes, Harry?" She pushed her hair behind her shoulders. It was still as bushy as it had been as a first year, though Harry had learned to refer to it as Voluminous in conversation. Apparently, witches liked volume.

"Why are all the girls-" He gestured to where Lavender and Pavarti were deep in discussion of some article in Witch Weekly, "Why do they have their hair up?"

"What?" Hermione blinked at him.

"You know. All the girls, they have their hair up. Fancy like."

"Don't be ridiculous, Harry. Not all the girls do. I don't." But Hermione was glancing around the Great Hall and coming to the same realization. A frown darkened her brow as she glanced over at the Slytherin table where every girl in their year had their hair done up in elaborate coiffed. Even Pansy Parkinson had done away with her short bob and was sporting a rather nice braided knot at the base of her neck.

"And," Hermione continued after a second, "Ginny doesn't." So it's not a pure blood thing, was the unsaid context.

"Ginny doesn't what?" Ron sat down heavily next to Harry and glanced suspiciously at his younger sister. Ever since Ginny had become a fourth year, Ron had become increasingly cagy and protective of his baby sister's "virtue." It had made for some awkward moments when Harry allowed himself to be too distracted by a flash of red hair in the hallway or on the Quidditch Pitch.

"Have her hair in an updo." Hermione answered.

"Oh, well yeah. She's not a fifth year yet, is she?" Ron pulled the plate of roast beef towards him and stabbed several slices onto his plate. "She'll put it up next summer."

"What will I do?" Ginny turned from her conversation with Colin. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion at someone putting a limit on any of her freedoms.

"Put your hair up." Ron gestured down the table with his fork. "Like Lavender."

Lavender, ears ever sharp for a mention of her name, glanced up with a slight blush.

"No, I won't." Ginny swung her thick strands of crimson hair behind her shoulder and raised her chin defiantly.

"Like hell you won't, Ginvera. It's a bloody tradition."

"For the Pureblood Patriarchy." Fire flashed in Ginny's eyes and Harry felt his cheeks light up in response. Especially when she leveled her gaze on him. "It's not the middle ages. I can do what I like."

"Of course you can." Hermione hastened to add, before Ron could say another word. "You're an emancipated woman. You don't need to follow backwards pureblood rituals."

"It's not a backwards Pureblood ritual-" Both Ron and Lavender broke out at the same time and then caught sight of each other and Lavender turned away with a deep blush.

"Merlin, Hermione. Not everything pureblood is tainted by the Malfoy git. There's some good things. Like Ginny and I are purebloods." Ron stabbed his steak savagely.

"I forgot." Hermione admitted.

"I know." Ron glared down at the steak and then shoved his plate away, standing up angrily.

"Ron-" Hermione half rose but he shook his head.

"Whatever. I'm not hungry anyways." He stalked out of the Great Hall. Lavender watched him go and then turned an angry and, surprising to Harry, tear filled glare on Hermione.

"Maybe next time you'll think before you talk."

Hermione looked taken aback by the sharp comment. "What-"

"Any witch worth her salt and sage knows that there is magic in unbound hair. Keeping it up after her fourth year, when her magic is gaining it's potency, is a promise. That she will keep her magic pure and contained until marriage. Then on her wedding night, her husband can undo her hair and know that no one else has seen or touched it before him."

Hermione looked as shocked as Harry felt at the revelation, but Lavender wasn't done.

"And it's not just a pureblood tradition. I'm a halfblood. So get off your high horse, Hermione. There are some things the wizards have thought of first. And maybe think about what it means that your hair is still down."

With that parting shot, she collected her own bag and stormed out of the Great Hall. Pavarti mouthed a quick sorry to Hermione and then hurried after her. Harry turned back to the table to see Ginny watching him with a stormy and unreadable expression. He dropped his eyes hurriedly to his plate.

"But that's what I'm talking about." Hermione's whisper was barely audible and slightly shaking.

"What?"

"That tradition. There's no proof that there's magic in hair. What does that even mean? And keeping it pure for their husbands? That's the same patriarchal nonsense as- as-" Hermione snapped her mouth shut and shot up. There was a light in her eye that Harry recognized. So he didn't ask where she was going when she strode out. The library was the only answer.

Looking around the now deserted table and uncomfortable under the same, unreadable gaze of Ginny, Harry vowed never to question witches' hairstyles ever again.


	2. Founding Tradtions

A/N: Snippet of a story idea from the days of the Founders. How were pureblood lines established? What happened to squibs born to pureblood families? My take on these two questions

It was a good match. Exemplary in foresight and execution.

"Dear heart, why do you look so down?"

It was a testament to her mother's foresight and her father's love.

"You look gorgeous, my darling. Absolutely gorgeous."

It was, as she had been so often told, necessary. The only way left to her, a child born without magic into a magical family, to contribute to her family's well being. And her mother had been extraordinarily kind.

"And it's your wedding day! Chin up, love."

Ambrosia Perry glanced up from her hands and glared at the kindly mirror. An heirloom of the Perry household, but it spoke only what the hearer wanted and Ambrosia hated it. The pale face staring back at her looked too young for marriage though she knew from her studies of Mundane's courting habits, she was considered old at 18 to be engaged. Well past the more frail Mundane's child bearing years.

When she moved to her husband's estates, that would be the sole measure of her worth. Could she produce and heir? Her skill at magical languages, at taming the unicorns of their forest, of beating her twin and best friend on the broom- all those would be nothing to the Mundane's.

"Darling, how goes your preparations?"

Deidre Perry appeared in the doorway and the enchanted brush floated back to the table. Crossing behind her, Ambrosia's mother picked up the brush and resumed the combing of her daughter's long, dark hair.

"You'll come back every month at the full moon." Her mother murmured. Still young at 90, only a few streaks of grey were beginning to show in the woman's raven hair. Her eyes were as clear and steady as they had been, according to her father, when they swept through the Great Hall of Hogwarts that first day and pierced her father's heart.

"I know." It pained her, that Ambrosia's voice broke on the syllables. She took a steadying breath and met her mother's eyes in the mirror. "I know. I don't want you to think I am ungrateful, mother."

"I don't."

Always direct, her mother's blunt sincerity sometimes made other wizards forget that she had been sorted into the House of the Snake for good reason.

"It's a good match."

Her mother began braiding her hair, forgoing magic. As the years ran closer to Ambrosia's marriage, Dierdre had insisted that she learn to thrive without even the accoutrements of magic. It was a skill that she insisted all her children learn as well.

"He is young, learned. Recently heir to the largest grounds bordering ours. Of good family." Ambrosia counted off the benefits of her future husband on her fingers as she had every night for the past month. Only this time her hands were fisted tightly in the white gown. "Our son will inherit the land and when his letter arrives from Hogwarts, he will attend. Develop his skills."

"And?" Her mother prompted when she faltered.

"And another magical family will be forged in Magical Britain. The Flints. And I shall be their founder."

"As it is done." Braids complete, her mother bent down to kiss the top of her head and rested her arms around her shoulders. "You are beautiful, my little goddess. You may not believe it now, but you will when you see the truth reflected in his eyes. Now stand up. It is time to go."

After her mother swept out of the room, Ambrosia stood. Gone was the free flowing hair to be replaced by a tight cornet of braids. Gone were the comfortable robes of black and green- her family colors. Instead, the white dress washed out her face and made her look like a ghost. She was a ghost. Her childhood was dead as of this afternoon.

They apperated to the bordering woods that separated their land with the Flints. Ambrosia bit down the queasy feeling that always accompanied her side along apperation. This was one magical skill she did not loath lacking. At the edge of the wood, horses were waiting for them. Regular, mundane horses housed in their mundane manor on this edge of the woods. Given the breath of their holdings, it was occasionally necessary for her father to meet with neighboring Mundanes and it would not do to bring them into the highly enchanted lands of their castle.

Her father let her go slowly- his eyes watering once more. She took his hand and let him lead her to the white horse at the front. The creature bent its head and snuffed her shoulder. Animals had always liked her.

It was a sunny day, as if Nature had blessed this day of union. When they emerged from the shaded, coolness of the forest, Ambrosia had to raise a hand to shield her eyes from the glare. Before her, a motley collection of men, women and horses stood.

These were her people, Ambrosia realized with a start, her new family. The marriage hadn't seemed real until she glanced over the men's faces wondering which one was to be hers for the next thirty or so years.

Her father's horse passed her and as her father dismounted, a man stepped forward. His eyes were sharp and his brows were very black and full. It was not a kind face and Ambrosia's heart sunk in her chest.

"Lord Perry." The fierce man bowed low, "May I present Lord Flint."

A younger man stepped unsteadily forward, his eyes fixed on her. He was not a handsome man. His jaw was harsh. His brows heavy. Muscled like a smith- so unlike the slim figures she had grown up with. Bodies and minds suited to the intricacies of magic. Worse was his eyes were glazed and distance as he stared at her.  
A sudden, fearsome thought flashed through her mind.

"Mother, he's not-"

"Imperiused? Under a love potion?" Her mother's thin lips twisted into a smile. "No, darling. I needed none of my arts to arouse his interest in you."

Dismounting shakily, Ambrosia allowed her mother to escort her close to her father. She felt transfixed by Lord Burke's eyes. Never before had she warranted this amount of scrutiny. What was she but the forgotten child of the Perry's? Neither heir nor good match. Some small part of herself thrilled at the attention.

Wrap him around her finger, her mother had told her. Maybe this instruction would be more pleasure than chore. One could only hope.

She found him next to the forest. In a small, walled garden, two trees were newly planted in the ground. Her husband stood before them, head bowed, eyes empty. Ambrosia didn't need to ask to know who lay beneath those graves. Argus had lost both his older brothers' mere months apart. One had died in a fire. The other was killed in battle. The youngest, who had never expect to inherit anything but a corner of land to farm- had found himself Lord of a large landholding and alone in the world.

He didn't stir as she crossed over to him and threaded a hand through his arm. She leaned her head against his shoulder- heart beating at the forwardness.

"Were you close?"

Her husband hesitated.

"They were good men." He finally said, "Very good men."

"That's not what I asked."

The shoulder bobbed under her head as he shrugged.

"Mother! You killed them!"

Dierdre looked up from where she was directing Foly, their house elf, to transplant the rosebushes. Her eyebrows rose as Ambrosia stalked towards her. It was her third month back on her family's lands and the air, saturated with magic, made her feel queasy.

"Of course I did, darling."

With a wave of her hand, Dierdre dismissed the house elf and took a seat on the delicately carved bench. So different from the stone slab which sat in her own little garden. When her mother patted the bench beside her, Ambrosia sat warily.

"You didn't even ask-"

"Who I had killed?" Was it her imagination or was her mother amused? "No. I was expecting the question, I confess. Also, who but your departed brother in laws would raise you to such a fury on your husband's behalf. Have you fallen in love so quickly?"

Ambrosia narrowed her eyes at the question. A sharp retort at the tip of her tongue, until it disappeared under the realization.

"You are deflecting the question, mother."

"Is it possible to deflect a question that was never asked?"

Ambrosia glared and her mother did laugh. Light and silvery, it ran ragged against the dark nature of the conversation.

"You want to know why, my little elixir."

"Because they were Mundanes?" The harsh fear which had been lurking in her heart was spat out. Her mother raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"Do you really think that, darling?"

Ambrosia said nothing. Her mother took her hand in hers and held it tightly.

"Darling, I want you to listen to me. I killed both of the Flint brothers for you"

"What." Ambrosia was too cold to react beyond a whisper.

"It's true, love. Neither of Argus's brothers would have made good husbands for you. The eldest's thoughts were centered entirely on warring with neighboring bands of Mundanes- and he was already in love with his young wife. The middle child was too in love with his books and had no love with the Old Religion. You see, darling, I watched them very carefully. Neither would have made suitable husbands for you."

Ambrosia felt ill to her stomach. Argus hadn't mentioned his brother's wife, but now the family tree swam before her eyes. There had been a wife.

And a child.

She covered her face in her hands while her mother stroked her back softly.

"And… why so close? You can't imagine what pain it has caused Argus. He loved them. Dearly. It would be like if you killed Damian and Gaven."

Her mother sighed softly.

"I forget how young and how sheltered you are. If you had only gone to Hogwarts, you could have been sorted into your fathers house and never had to deal with these issues." Her mother bent to kneel in the dirt. Taking Ambrosias hands in her own, she forced her daughter to look up at her.

"Answer me, Ambrosia. It has been three months. Has your husband taken you into his confidence? Has he come to rely on you?"

Thinking back to the look of Argus's eyes in the garden, Ambrosia was forced to nod.

"He has come to depend on me." She admitted.

"Of course he has, my clever girl." Deirdre smiled at her. "You are the pillar of support in his life. The only one he has left. Do you think he would cling to you so tightly if he were not desperate? Do you think he would allow you such autonomy over his soul if he was not so utterly alone? You are the balm to his pain. Eventually the pain will pass, but his dependence never will. When you bear Argus's son, when you nurture his magical talents, when you eventually send him off to Hogwarts- your husband will have no voice left to disagree."

Yes, Ambrosia thought silently as her mother rose and cleaned her robe with a gesture, but is that dependence worth four lives?


	3. Three Takes on a Potter Reunion

Three Takes on a Potter Reunion

A/N: this story was inspired by a conversation with Ellory. On the original Black family tree, there is an unknown son of Charlus and Dorea Potter who could conceivably be in the Marauder's generation. It isn't James since cannon has made his parents the elderly Fleamont and Euphemia Potter who died of dragon pox (the same epidemic which carried off Abarax Malofy? We can only wonder…) So who is this mysterious son and why did he never step forward to help his cousin? Nephew? Distant family relation? These are three reasons that I thought of off the top of my head.

"It sucks you live with the Muggles, mate." Ron Weasley clapped the back of his best friend's shoulder as they gazed down at his latest Christmas gift from his aunt and uncle: a wad of tissue. At least it wasn't used, but given the steady decline in quality of gifts, it wouldn't take long before Harry was left holding a box of air or an empty can.

"Yeah." Harry sighed as he shoved the box away, wondering what sort of thank you he would craft to the Dursleys. He had to write a thank you note or suffer blistering critique of his manners, mother, and wizarding world all summer. But what did you say about tissue?

"Seriously mate. Why are you living with them?" Ron plunked down to begin munching on some of the homemade fudge his mum had sent him, "You're a Potter."

"So?" Harry's voice came muffled as he pulled the Weasley sweater over his head. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"You're dad's a pureblood. Where's the rest of the family? Or aunts or uncles? Even grandparents?" Ron frowned at him, cheek bulging with delicious fudgy treats. But Harry just shrugged as he adjusted his glasses. "You don't know? You've never looked up your family tree?"

"You can look at family trees?" Harry asked. Ron sighed and reminded himself, once again, that Harry Potter no matter how famous was as clueless about the world as muggleborn.

"Yeah," He swallowed the fudge, "I bet Hermione would help with the research too."

0X0X0X0

"You want to research your family?" Hermione squealed, "That's a brilliant idea Harry. I've always wondered about the rest of the Potters. You know I did a bit of reading on wizarding genealogies when I first arrived. It's a very interesting though complicated branch of study. People say that your genealogy is like a family tree but really it's more like a bramble patch in the wizarding world. Cousins get married or children end up marrying parents friends. I guess when you live to be 200 years old age doesn't matter as much-"

"Hermione, breath." Harry cautioned and his friend took a deep breath. Then smiled.

"Ok, give me 20 minutes."

17 minutes and 43 seconds later, Hermione looked up from a nastily thick book and grinned.

"Ok," She announced. Ron and Harry stopped their game of trying to wandlessly levitate a crumpled bit of paper to the other's side of the table, "Harry. Your nearest living relative is Thomas Potter of Wiltershire. He's your second cousin."

"So that makes him-" Harry squinted as he tried to do the family math.

"Your grandfather's brother's son." Ron supplied helpfully. "Close enough that you're still considered true family. It's only after you get into third cousins or removed that blood magic stops working." Hermione gave him an approving look and handed Harry a piece of paper on which the name and address was written.

"Alright," Harry said after studying the name. Thomas Potter. It had a good sound to it, but Harry still felt uneasy. "Well, why hasn't he met me? Or anything?"

"Only one way to find out," Hermione said. Her eyes were shining in excitement, "You should write to him. Maybe he's an adventurer and has been exploring Antarctica. Or a secret agent in China. Or-"

"Barmy." Ron chimed in. "What? It's not like it has to be good." He added when Hermione glared at him.

"Ok. I'll write. What's the worst that could happen?" Harry wondered.

Still, it was with a beating heart that he tied the letter addressed to one Thomas Potter to Hedwig's leg and sent her off into the night.

I.

That evening Harry was distracted from his descent to dinner by a loud altercation in the Atrium of Hogwarts. Ron, Hermione and Harry exchanged concerned looks and hurried faster when they could make out the shouting.

"Mr. Potter, you are not supposed to be here." Professor McGonagall's voice echoed strictly. Harry hesitated, but didn't see her. Who was she talking to if not him?

"He sent a letter! In his own hand! The curse of the Reunion is broken." An unfamiliar man's voice raged. A knot tightened in Harry's chest as his jumped to a conclusion. Breaking away from his friends he ran down the stairs and stopped short in the Atrium. A small knot of students had already gathered, thronging around the two adults who stood arguing before the front doors. One was the familiar figure of Professor McGonagal whose spine was stiffer than Harry had ever seen.

The other was a dark, messy haired man who was brandishing a letter like a wand. The knot tightened further and Harry knew who he must be.

"Thomas?" He called out from the stairs. The man looked up and grey eyes met green. His cheek bones were a little higher. There was some silver starting at his temples. But he was unmistakably a Potter.

"Harry?" Thomas called out. He shoved past Mcgonagall and the students parted before him as he ran up the stairs to Harry. "Is it you? Is it really you?"

Harry could only bring himself to nod. This was his father's cousin. He had written to him half in hope- half in jest only a few hours ago. Never had he expected a meeting or so soon. "Yes, it's me."

"Oh, thank Merlin." Thomas swooped him up into a bone crushing hug, "After James died, I tried to find you Harry. James and I weren't close, but you're family. I tried so hard- until Dumbledore cast the curse of reunion as your guardian."

"Curse of reunion?" Harry asked- voice muffled by the tight press of Thomas's shoulder.

"It's a curse that was originally crafted to protect witches from unwanted suitors," Hermione answered as she and Ron hurried down the stairs. "Under the curse of the reunion, the recipient of the curse can make no attempt to contact, see or interact with the beneficiary of the curse until the beneficiary- that's you, Harry- reach out to them to make amends."

"In your own hand and of your own free will," Thomas gave an approving nod to Hermione. "I had tracked you down to a Muggle neighborhood of all places Harry when Dumbledore appeared to cast the curse. After that- no matter what I read in the papers or heard about from gossip- I couldn't reach out to you or help you."

The reality slowly sunk into Harry's mind. "And if Hermione hadn't happened to come across you name…" He whispered, "I had no idea you even existed until a few hours ago."

"I'm not surprised. Just as there are notice me not spells for people, there are think of me not spells for thoughts. I wonder how many others Dumbledore cast the Curse of Reunion on." Suddenly, Thomas stepped back and gazed critically at Harry. "Why are you so small? Potter men easily top six feet."

His wand was out in a second and waving in a complex pattern of spells, before Harry could react. Ron was faster- his own wand pointed at Thomas's face and expression steely.

"Calm yourself, Weasley." Thomas didn't even glance up from the flashes of light and colors his spell work produced, "These are basic diagnostic spells. I work as a local medi-wizard in a country clinic. For when- Harry. You are severely malnourished. You're lacking essential mineral and vitamin quantities. Why aren't you eating?"

As Thomas's magic washed over him as calming as a warm bath, the knot in his chest slowly loosened. This was what family felt like. Fierce- supportive- loving. Harry couldn't wait to see what his new Uncle would do when he learned about the Dursleys.

II.

The next morning, Harry received a letter from a dark brown ministry owl. The letter almost landed in his juice, but Harry's seeker reflexes came to his rescue. The in dark blue wax was the official ministry seal and Harry opened it, with a feeling of dread in his stomach.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

The letter read.

_We regret to inform you that one Mr. T. Potter is no longer among the living following order 72 article b section 3.4._

_Have a good day._

_Sincerely,_

Harry didn't bother reading the signature. His stomach twisted and his head rebelled. It was like Malfoy had got a sucker punch to the gut. Despite Ron's warnings, he had fallen asleep to dreams of a mysterious and wonderful uncle who would swoop in and take him away. Thomas Potter was everything the Dursley's were not: kind, fun, caring, and happy to see Harry.

He was also apparently dead.

"Harry is everything alright?" Hermione asked as she looked up from her book. His friend loved to read while she ate- it was a hold over from her childhood apparently. Harry handed her the letter silently and pushed aside his plate.

"Oh Harry," She breathed after she read the short, blunt missive. Wrapping her arms around her friend she buried her face in his shoulder. "I know you were looking so forward to meeting your uncle. And then to have-"

"Wicked!" Ron whistled. An expression of delight crossed his face as he stared down at the letter. Hermione immediately straightened- spine stiff with righteous fury.

"Ronald! How dare you-"

"No, mate. Order 72." Ron waved the letter in his face. "They write books about this. Order 72 is the unspeakables. When a wizard or witch starts to do research on things that are so dangerous or so important to the wizarding world, they are declared dead so no one will try to steal their memories or imperious them. You know the series about the Secret Mage Flemming? He was part of the Order 72."

"So you're saying," Harry blinked at his friend, "You're saying that my uncle could be a secret agent?"

Ron nodded emphatically, a giant grin across his face. Harry knew his best friend wouldn't lie to him. "Wow."

"I know." Ron dug a quill out of his pocket and passed it to Harry, "Now, what you've got to do is write back 'By Blood and Magic, I refuse this order and demand to see the man bound by family.'"

"What?" Hermione glance back and forth between Harry who was scribbling the note down on the back of the letter and Ron who was watching him eagerly, "You've got to be kidding me. That can't possibly be how you respond to the letter."

"Oh no," Ron protested, "I've seen it all the times in the books. That's how the hero always does it."

0X0X0X0X

Deep underground- deeper than gringotts and deeper than muggles had dug- a tall, dark haired man raised a single eyebrow as he read the messy scrawl on the back of a ministry form.

"By blood and magic, then?" Turning his head slightly to see the shadowy form waiting just outside the pool of candle light, he said, "Put the experiments on hold, Peircon. It appears I will be returning back to England sooner than expected.

The shadowy figure bowed, "As you wish, my lord."

III.

The next day after transfiguration, Professor McGonagall called Harry over after class. Hermione and Ron hesitated at the door, but continued on to lunch when Harry waved them on. To his memory, he hadn't thought he had done anything to get in trouble. Maybe the strict head of Gryffindor just wanted to discuss his latest transfiguration paper.

"Mr. Potter, please sit." She pointed to the small stool next to her desk and Harry took an awkward perch. "I understand that you sent a letter out yesterday to a Mr. Thomas Potter?"

"Uh. Yeah." Harry blinked at her, "Is that ok?"

"Of course." McGonagall seemed to hesitate for a moment, "Would you like me to arrange a meeting with him?"

"Yeah! Would you?" Harry leaned forward so fast he almost toppled off his stool, "He's my only living relative on my dad's side. I've always wanted to meet more of my family. That would be great Professor!"

"As you wish, Mr. Potter." McGonagall nodded once and seemed to come back to herself, "Come to my office this Saturday at 1. We will depart from there."

0X0X0X0

That Saturday at 12:58, Harry knocked on Professor McGonagall's door. He had spent ages trying to get his unruly hair to lay flat and had chosen his best robes. He'd even tried a cleaning charm on his shoes that almost melted off the toe before Hermione was able to fix it.

When McGonagall opened the door, Harry was surprised to see that two other people were sitting by a blazing fire and nibbling on biscuits. One was an older Hufflepuff he didn't know, but the other-

"Neville?" Harry stopped short, "What are you doing here?"

"Hello Harry," Neville said shyly, "Professor McGonagall said you might be joining us from now on." The girl in yellow robes gave him a small, sad smile.

"Uh…" He glanced at the stern professor for an answer but she simply swept to the fireplace without explanation.

"Come along children, we don't have time waste." Casting a handful of floo powder onto the flames, she enunciated clearly, "St. Mungo's- Visitor Room." Stepping into the flames she disappeared. Harry grabbed a handful of floo powder and fell into line behind Neville. St. Mungo's? Wasn't that the wizarding hospital? Was his uncle a medi-wizard then? When his turn came, he carefully repeated the destination and stepped into the flames.

Floo travel was a nightmare. But at least when he tumbled out of the fireplace there was a kind eyed nurse waiting with a towel to scrub the ash and soot off.

"Harry, you're new. This your first time at St. Mungo's?" She asked cheerfully. Harry could only nod in response. "Wonderful! I'm sure Mr. Potter will be thrilled to see you! Now Martha you know where Healer Bloom's station is, right? Excellent! Then you two boys follow me." The girl gave Neville a little wave and headed off down the right hallway while they followed the Medi-witch down the left one.

The witch kept up a steady stream of cheerful chatter as they walked. She and Neville seemed to be good friends as she asked after Trevor, his potions homework, and if he was eating enough for breakfast. Finally, they came to a double set of doors which the witch unlocked with a wave of her wand.

"There you are Neville. Remember, the floo opens again in an hour but you're welcome to wait in the visitor room for as long as you like. This way, Harry." With a quick squeeze to his shoulder, Neville parted and disappeared between the doors. The witch led Harry further into the rats nest of the hospital and finally paused before a door. She cast a quick spell on Harry and he shivered from the not unpleasant feeling of being scrubbed from head to foot with a gentle bristle brush.

"Sterilization spell," The witch explained kindly, "Can't have you bringing in any unwanted spells or germs. Anyways, Mr. Potter is just inside. Feel free to stay as long as you like, but return back to the visitor room in an hour. If you get lost, just put your hand on one of these," She pointed to a white panel set in the wall, "Say where you want to go and the floor will light up along your path. Any questions?"

Tonnes, but none came to mind so Harry just shook his head. She reached forward and adjusted his collar. "Mr. Potter will be so pleased to see you. He hasn't had any visitors in nearly thirteen years."

"Oh," Suddenly, Harry felt a great rush of empathy. He, in a way, hadn't had any visitors in the 11 years he was at the Dursleys. "Thanks for your help ma'am."

"Such a sweet boy," She stepped back and nodded in approval. "I hope we'll be seeing you again." With a wave, she turned on her heel and disappeared down the hallway. Harry turned to the door, took a deep breath, and opened the door.

There was only one bed in the room. It was large and set in a complicate rune carved into the ground that pulsed gently with low grade magic. A table was set near by with a complex collection of potion bottles. Some, Harry recognized from his own times in the Infirmary, but most were a mystery. Except for the man laying in the bed, there was no one else in the room, so Harry approached the bed cautiously.

The man in the bed had once been handsome, but years confined to a hospital bed had sunken his cheeks and hollowed out his eyes. His skin was pale and so thin Harry could see the beat of the arteries at his neck and the delicate tracings of veins around his eyes. His hair had grown long and despite being clean and brushed looked unruly and windswept. Harry's breath caught in his throat.

Like mine, he thought. This really is Thomas Potter.

There was a chair by the bed and Harry took a shaking seat, glancing around to see if there was anything else that could tell him more about the man on the bed. On the table with the potions was a thick file. When Harry picked it up, magic swirled around his hands and the subsided. The folder fell open by itself.

Logs of potion usage. Diagnostic spell results recorded. Vital signs taken. Harry flipped through page after page of medical jargon until he reached the back of the folder. A photograph fell out and Harry bent to pick it up.

Three young faces stared up at him, smiling and laughing. Harry realized with a shock that the one of the left must have been Thomas from his younger days. He had been a handsome boy and the Potter influence was even clearer. Harry flipped the picture over on the back and saw the names written in a scrawled handwriting

_Thomas Potter. Asher Perslaine. Valentine Perslaine. Summer 1962._

The girl, Valentine, made a rude face at him as he stared down at him, but laughed as her brother shoved her. Thomas was also laughing, but Harry didn't miss the longing look he gave her that disappeared as soon as Asher turned back to him. The three teenagers, long since past, continued to laugh and joke- caught forever in a moment that would never end.

Had they become friends in school? Or before? Did Thomas ever confess his feelings to Valentine? Did she return them? Harry suddenly realized that he would never know.

He went to slip the photograph back into the folder, but a report at the back of the file caught his eye. It was a medical report unlike any he had seen on the tele or heard about in real life. Half medical jargon, half gossip- Harry bent down to read carefully.

_February 14__th__ 1981_

_Patient T. Potter was brought in at 3:51 am today._

_A V. Perslaine apparated into the room holding the unconscious potter. Her report was rushed but apparently he had been tortured by the Death Eaters to reveal the location of a J. Potter. Before further information could be extracted, V. Perslaine apparated away swearing oaths of vengeance against Death Eaters for death of A. Perslaine and T. Potter. *_

There was an asterisk next to that sentence and Harry glanced down at the bottom of the report to read:

_* A V. Perslaine was found dead in the streets of Diagone Alley today. There was evidence of many dark curses and her wand was found broken beside her body. With her death, the Purslaine family has ended._

Tears filled Harry's eyes and he had to blink them away quickly or else worry about blotching the parchment.

_We were able to stabilize T. Potter but were unable to reach V. Perslaine to inform her of this fact. T. Potter has not yet woken, but appears to be in good health. _

_Recommendation: keep in stasis until a Mind healer can be spared._

Harry quickly rifled through the pages of follow up procedures and treatments. A mind healer had been found but had been unable to either access Thomas's mind or wake him from the coma. Various other treatments had been tried over the years, but all had failed to revive the man. Harry learned that the variety of healing spells were not as vast as he had imagined and that there was a standing order to keep any Pureblood alive no matter their mental state.

Eventually, a small chime rang out above the door and a soft voice announced, "The visitor hour is over. Please return to the visitor room."

Harry slowly closed the folder and replaced it on the table. The hour had flown by in the time he had spent reading about his uncle. As he glanced down at the man, he couldn't stop the surge of sadness and pity that ran through him. It was because of him, that Thomas, Asher and Valentine had lost their lives. If Voldemort hadn't been looking for him- hadn't thought that the other Potter might know where his cousin was, then they could have all be alive.

"I'll make this better," He promised, reaching down to take his uncle's cold hand. It might be his imagination, but he could almost feel a flicker of magic in response.

A/N: Each of these might be fun to expand into a longer story at some point. Let me know what you think!


End file.
